Sunday, September 13, 2009

For a while, I thought I was done with this blog---perhaps in the way that you drink something and then all the sudden, you've moved on to the next thing. I think of my progression from Jack Daniels to Woodford Reserve. Or perhaps my more recent switch from a single malt replacing said Bourbon.

Or maybe it's the bars that change. In college, the cheap beer and dance clubs to my now preference to bar with classic cocktails and a place to sit down---and a big cheers to my regulars P & A who introduced A and I to Beekman Bar and Books last night. Best Old Fashioned I ever had!

And so I'm back here (more sporadically) blogging when a thought arises. Last night was one of my favorite nights working (lots of regulars) and interesting new hotel guests. May have even cultivated an audience for my upcoming poetry reading in Detroit. One of my standard questions begins with where are you from and to get people talking about home. How much we all want to connect and how a bar can be that place. To get folks talking, to ease them into conversation with a stranger, how much we all want to be heard.

And so find me here every now and again---with insights and tips and random musings about tending.

Monday, August 3, 2009

A few summers ago I was vacationing in the Pacific Northwest. While rummaging through a vintage store in a small coastal town, I found some old decanter bottles with ornate medallions that said what they were. I think there was vodka and gin. No bourbon. The proprietor said he could make one into a bracelet for me. I picked gin even though it wasn't my drink at the time. It had sharp edges, so it doesn't really make that great of a bracelet and certainly not for tending, but lately I'm wondering if that object was perhaps a sign from my future self, a small glimpse of who I would become. After all, most of my favorite classic cocktails involve gin---something with raspberries from The Campbell Apartment, and the bittered gin sling and the amazing cucumber limeade with Hendricks gin from Tom and Jerry's. And this blog and my dream bar...

And here's the newest creation with gin---

all equal parts:

gin

pomegranate juice

fresh lime juice

simple syrup

and a splash of soda water.

On the rocks.

I'm still thinking up the name for this little number so for now, cheers, from Ms. Gin.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

I'm back to working on more bar essay/fiction after focusing my energy on yoga poems...and this comes after my craziest night tending since I started. It's not even close to done, but it's a start to a longer piece about the interactions between men and women and if there's any difference between it being an exchange that happens over the bar or only on the other side.

~

It was one of those slower nights when Magazine Lady came in. She's always got a stack of beauty and real estate magazines and orders a diet coke or a coffee. She tips well enough and her mystery intrigues me. I've always wanted to ask her why so many magazines, why decide to read them in a bar and not order anything alcoholic? Though I've been that person quite a few times having coffee or tea at a bar or even just water, so I get it, on some level.

The last time she was in, the tipsy suits cornered her. She didn't answer. "You a magazine editor or something?"

"No," she had said cooly flipping a page. He tried again. "You're badgering me," she said, "I'm just trying to read."

Luckily his less rude or drunken colleague stepped in, paid the check and said it was nice meeting her and they had a dinner reservation.

There's a fine line between the spoken and unspoken. As a bartender, I try to respect people and let them talk when they want. "I try not to judge or peg people," which is what I told the South American tourist when he wanted me to tell him what I thought of his relationship with the woman standing next to him. He pushed, "is she my friend, my girlfriend, or my friend?"

I let the bait fall loose, knowing that the small fish are small.

"You're supposed to read people," he said.

I set his drink in front of him. "This is what I do, if you want analysis, you'll have to tip me more than 20%."

His girl smiled. "Good answer," she said rolling her eyes at him.

So I let Magazine Lady be. I know she had told me her name, but I had forgotten. It's easier to remember what people drink and what their stories are and so they keep coming back and it gets too late to ask their names again. I was trying to think of a way to find out politely when fate in the form of business traveler stepped in. He was from the midwest but used to live in the city he said. It was late and there were only four guests spaced out across the bar, the Swiss tourist drinking Sam Adams, another regular, Oren, Magazine Lady, and Jim who was introducing himself to Magazine Lady.

The last time she was in she was telling me about a date, how she had met someone at the bar when I wasn't working and how they went to french restaurant in the neighborhood, but it was terrible. She said they had bought a bottle of wine and then the waiter shooed them out before they finished their meal and their wine. I tried to guess where she had been. It sounded like the place I went to once for a bourbon after work. I met the owner. He invited me back to eat and said he'd take care of everything. I never took him up on it though. "The owner must not have been there that night," she said.

I didn't want to say but I sensed that somehow these things happen to her. Once she had given me a bracelet. A friend had given it to her but she said it seemed more my style. She said she noticed the paint was chipped on some of the plastic beads. "The bar is dark I said, no one will notice." I put it in my tip bucket.

Outside the sky had darkened. Cars flashed by in the windows. I poured the chardonnay Jim buys for her, which she had initially refused, but since he was pushy about it, I figured let him pay for it. “You don’t have to drink it,” I had said.

~

A few weeks after the incident, my manager calls me in to the office, says a woman came in and said that I was the reason she doesn’t stay at the hotel anymore. She said that I treat women as if they’re objects. I haven’t seen Magazine Lady since that night. I ask if the woman had long thinning auburn hair and lipstick that’s a little off, too bright and running into the cracks around her mouth. My boss said “yeah, hair up in a ponytail.”

I shrug. I recount the story and my boss taps a pencil on the bar. “These things happen,” she says.

“She lives in town, she doesn’t stay in the hotel,” I say, wondering why this white lie, but I know, somehow I let her down.

~

It’s summer now, months since Magazine Lady or the last time we even spoke of her. I keep thinking maybe one day she’ll be back but something in me says I’ll never see her again.

It’s her I think of when Kristie gestures at the end of the bar, at the tall man, shaved head, and asks “job hazard?”

“It comes with the territory, doesn’t happen much here. Like anything else, pros and cons. He’s been at it since we opened.”

She squeezes the lime into her drink, “I don’t know how you deal with it.”

I smile, “it’s busy enough that I can walk away when he gets a little more detailed.”

“The things I could do to you,” he had said as I skated away to the couple a few seats over.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

This is the question that I get a lot. Perhaps it's the flower or the artsy glasses that gives me away. So in the spirit of what else, I'm excited to say that I was a runner-up in this year's Lilith magazine's poetry contest! Just scroll down until you see my name under Poetry Contest!

And for some more cool artsy bartenders, check this out: A big cheers to Philly photographer/tender, Sarah Stolpha!

Monday, July 6, 2009

This week the drinks people asked for came in colors---I had no idea what a purple rain was until a woman came in the bar asking for one. She said she had had it in Jamaica. Thanks to the trusty iPhone, I was able to make it.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Since reading and article in Edible Brooklyn in the fall, my beau, Mr. Gin (or last night, Mr. Beer) has been wanting to go to Fette Sau. Since we were in Billyburg, we thought maybe this was the night, and then after walking around, we found it right away, not even needing to look it up on our evil-i's.

As a vegetarian, I went for the bourbon selection, hoping there would be enough side items to satisfy my hunger as well as my thirst. Last night ended up being 1 for 2. Though I did notice a lot of the mom's brought tupper-ware full of kid food (mac and cheese, apples, cheerios), so next time, I'll be stashing some fake meat in my purse so I can have my bourbon and eat my meat too!

However, the drinking was prime. I found a new bourbon I liked and for only $6 a glass! It's called 80 Strong and with a picture of a kick ass lady on the bottle, what bourbon-loving gal wouldn't support this brand?! It's not as vanilla-y or maple-y as Woodford, but the bite is soft and sweet. And what guy doesn't want to drink his beer out of a mason jar?!

And the bar at Fette Sau uses those perfect gigantic squares of ice and has little eye-droppers of water so you can perfect the right balance of bourbon and water. It's quite a delicate one, like relationships. You have to keep talking and toasting and trying new things, finding familiar and new territory simultaneously.

Monday, June 22, 2009

I'm in the nail salon after yoga class with TJ's Ragunath and it just so happens that I strike up a conversation with the woman who is across from me as we wait for our nails to dry. I think the conversation started because I asked her about the rad stripes across her big toe. She asks what I do and I say, I teach yoga---actually, she had noticed my mat and asked if I practiced at the Bikram studio right above the salon (so far not yet, but Joe, I plan on checking it out). She asks where I teach and so I tell her that I just graduated and I'll begin teaching pregnant women and their partners at a shelter in Harlem.

Too bad she says, I don't qualify for that, I live down the street.

No problem I say, I teach privates. I give her my card and she puts my info in her cell. I talk about the benefits of yoga and stretching and she asks if I can teach her and her husband. YES!

In yoga class, Ragunath told the story about chanting, how when he was younger and in India, his girlfriend was all stressed out and so he went to the guru thinking that the guru would mix up some kind of herbal remedy. At the end of the day, the guru gave him a song. Which is the song he taught us today. A song about the sweetness of Krisha, how in Northern India, they worship the baby form of G-d, how different that is from us in the West, praying to adult forms of G-d. Every other word in the song is basically the word sweet. I think about that word suka, may your practice be sweet from the sutras we studied. He told us that yoga is about how we can evolve, what can we do in our practice to make our lives sweeter. How can our practice better equip us to serve and cultivate that sweetness off our mats. I'm wondering if there is some correlation, this path, these teachings today. And maybe that is why the flower in my hair, to remind me about this sweetness.

And so tonight, I will bring that offering in liquid form, to my wonderful boyfriend, who is patient with me as I'm evolving, a non-alcoholic cocktail, bringing some sweetness and new energy to us and our relationship.

I'll be muddling cucumbers, limes, and perhaps a hint of mint or basil in soda water. Green for growth and for rooting, for sealing in and inspiring.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

It was one of those slower nights when Magazine Lady came in. She's always got a stack of beauty mags and real estate mags and orders a diet coke or a coffee. She tips well enough and her mystery intrigues me. I've always wanted to ask her why so many magazines, why decide to read them in a bar and not order anything alcoholic? Though I've been that person quite a few times having coffee or tea at a bar or even just water, so I get it, on some level.

The last time she was in, the tipsy suits cornered her. She didn't answer. "You a magazine editor or something?"

"No," she had said cooly flipping a page. He tried again. "You're badgering me," she said, "I'm just trying to read."

Luckily his less rude or drunken colleague stepped in, paid the check and said it was nice meeting her and they had a dinner reservation.

There's a fine line between the spoken and unspoken. As a bartender, I try to respect people and let them talk when they want. "I try not to judge or peg people," which is what I told the South American tourist when he wanted me to tell him what I thought of his relationship with the woman standing next to him. He pushed, "is she my friend, my girlfriend, or my friend?"

I let the bait fall loose, knowing that the small fish are small.

"You're supposed to read people," he said.

I set his drink in front of him. "This is what I do, if you want analysis, you'll have to tip me more than 20%."

His girl smiled. "Good answer," she said rolling her eyes at him.

So I let Magazine Lady be. I know she had told me her name, but I had forgotten. It's easier to remember what people drink and what their stories are and so they keep coming back and it gets too late to ask their names again. I was trying to think of a way to find out politely when fate in the form of business traveller stepped in. He was from the midwest but used to live in the city he said. It was late and there were only four guests spaced out across the bar, the Swiss tourist drinking Sam Adams, another regular, Oren, Magazine Lady, and Jim who was introducing himself to Magazine Lady.

The last time she was in she was telling me about a date, how she had met someone at the bar when I wasn't working and how they went to french restaurant in the neighborhood, but it was terrible. She said they had bought a bottle of wine and then the waiter shooed them out before they finished their meal and their wine. I tried to guess where she had been. It sounded like the place I went to once for a bourbon after work. I met the owner. He invited me back to eat and said he'd take care of everything. I never took him up on it and I was surprised at her experience. "The owner must not have been there that night," she said.

I didn't want to say but I sensed that somehow these things happen to her. Once she had given me a bracelet. A friend had given it to her but she said it seemed more my style. She said she noticed the paint was chipped on some of the plastic beads. "The bar is dark I said, no one will notice." I put it in my tip bucket.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Yesterday I had one of those days that a lot of people seem to have---12 hour days at the office. I had to be at the bar early for Serve Safe Training. Actually from 11 am to 3 pm and then my shift began at 4. I was initially upset, but once the training began, I really liked it. It was like school. Bar School. I learned about the laws and the way the body processes alcohol. Much of this is common sense, but nonetheless, it's always good to have more knowledge. So once I find out my test results, I'll be certified! And our trainer (manager of our other Kimpton bar/restaurant) is from Ohio and went to Kent! Oh how things are sync-ing up.

~

And on another note, looks like I'll be having regular shifts starting in July so you'll all know when to find me!

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

On the way to Miami, I ran into someone I went to high school with, and it turns out, she also works in a bar---only she does manicures! So, last night, I decided to try the happy hour at Beauty Bar. $10 gets you a drink and a manicure. I had heard about the bar in grad school and always wanted to stop in. I mean, who doesn't like sipping a drink in a 1950's blowdryer chair and watching the walls glitter (yes, lots of glitter in here).

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Over the Mother's Day weekend, I was walking around with my mother and since I knew people were going to be coming over Saturday night, I thought, maybe I should have some wine in the house, maybe my yoga pals won't think bourbon and beer post yoga is a good idea. Plus I knew mom wouldn't be having any of that. And in all the hub-bub, I don't think she went into my freezer for her usual red wine garnish, though I can't be sure. And after a bottle of wine, I introduced Leslie to bourbon, Mr. Woodford precisely.

But rewind to mom and I in Adam's Wines and Liquor, my favorite local shop for alcoholic sundries. Adam offering mom and me a taste of the sweet honey Polish vodka whose name I forget but I promise you, is well worth the trip to South Slope. Adam telling us how much he hates Belvedere and especially Grey Goose (to which I showed him my valiant be-headings of such bottles). Adam, proud of the true vodkas (made in Poland of course, not made somewhere else and then with the name France on the bottle to indicate class, though with wine yes! vodka no!) and joking and smiling. And Adam who only wants to sell quality products and do proper business and feel good about the money he makes, which resonates with me.

When I first started bartending my friend Shannon told me all people in this industry are either artists (interpret as you may) or alcoholics. I think about this term, honest living, and when you put yourself in a place where there's plenty of alcohol and innuendo, either you succumb, you make art, or you fall somewhere in the middle. So it's nice to find a kindred spirit to share my spirits with. He gets a hearty cheers for helping me discover more of my ancestry and for being an all around wonderful person, in the industry and in the world.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

I get this question a lot: What's your favorite drink to make? Or the variation, what do you like to drink?

And while lately, I've been playing more with rum, gin, and jelly, my answer is always, a manhattan. There's just something too funny about drinking a manhattan in Manhattan. So who comes into the bar asking the famous question, but Curtis Robinson, fellow blogger and "Producer-At-Large" for The Imbiber. Talk about serious professional comprehensive site!

He had his on the rocks, which leads me to my next question that I was asked by some lovely patrons last night---is it ok to drink a martini on the rocks. What I've noticed is that a woman has never ordered hers on the rocks. I say, ok, have your rocks. Put them where you like. It's your drink and you're the only one who has to drink it. Perhaps this theory comes from my mom who likes a few of them in her red wine. At first I was embarrassed if we went out, but nothing tops my cousin, right after we turned of age, ordering a drink called a "Scooby Snack," in a fancy restaurant. And our gracious waiter asking, M'am, how do you make that?

It was something with Midori and cream, a beautiful spring color, but seriously. Seriously yes! If we can dream it, we can drink it. So here's to us all, getting what we like, green, not green, rocks, no rocks.

Friday, May 1, 2009

It's a rainy day in New York, a fine day to blog about one of my favorite drinks that I had while in Miami--the breakfast capirhinia. The key ingredient is orange marmalade! The best way to make it is to shake everything else up and then stir in the jam. Cheers to Jacques Bezuidenhout for an amazing cocktail menu and for introducing me to adding a little jelly to my drinks! The next Monday Emiliano and I added raspberry jam to gin. I'm thinking about adding grape to vodka for a kick ass vodka soda---it may end up tasting like Grape pop from when I was a kid.

And if you mix Frangelico and Chambord, you have yourself a nice little peanut butter and jelly shot to accompany your sandwich (courtesy of E's fine tending skills).

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

My father used to keep his vodka in the freezer. My absolute favorites were the Van Gogh Chocolate and Espresso ones. Good enough to drink by themselves. In fact, I think I use that standard to measure if the liquor is good---would I want to drink it by itself (or on the rocks). Most bourbons pass the test, a few small batch botanical gins (like Hendricks), some better rums, and the above vodkas. That being said, it's starting to finally warm up here and I just bought some retro popsicle makers and so I'm thinking of alcoholic versions. Something a little whimsical and wrong but in a good way. So the question is, how much mixer will get the mango vodka to get with the orange juice and do their magic. I'm off for vacation tomorrow and wondering if I'll come home to a freezer of fun or perhaps a bastard screwdriver...

Monday, April 20, 2009

Though I'm not a fan of the drink myself, it's spring and everyone wants a Cosmo. Think Pink , think love and blossoms. The flowering trees on Park Ave. The tourists who are still all about Sex in the City, the I'm cool in my heels and I want a drink that looks pretty in my hands mentality. So if you have to make them, make them well. The trick is more lime, less cranberry. And the Cosmo's cousin, the Apple-tini is also making a comeback with my bar patrons---I remember when my father first made one for me, just vodka and apple pucker. Though I'm not a fan, if you add some fresh lemon, lime, and sour, it balances out the jolly rancher like quality.

I'm in the middle of 9 days in a row of tending (with yesterday off, so three more in a row to go). I thought I would be much more stressed, but what I'm realizing is the part of my job I love most is getting to know people. Sometimes I almost feel as if I'm at the bar, rather than working there---a sort of Park Ave. Cheers type of deal. However, I don't think I'd get to know as much or be part of as much if I were a patron (or get to walk away from what I don't really want to be part of).

On Saturday I opened early for a wedding party pre-gaming; later in the evening a couple came in celebrating their one year anniversary. Earlier in the week I got a good view of a heavy make-out session at the bar. (an aside, perhaps try finding a secluded corner, but hey, we all know what alcohol can do). It's spring and it's love. Lots of dates happening. A few weeks ago, I watched a man have two different dates at the bar (and he flirted with me in between, leaving his number on his tab at the end). As if! I'm tossing a virtual cosmo in his face!

Friday, April 17, 2009

In the great Passover battle, Chopin beats Ciroc as the non-grain based vodka that is "kosher." Next year, I promise to have a whole slew of Matzah friendly sippers! Last night, I had a bagel, a slice, and a cinnamon roll during my bar shift. The bourbon will wait until the weekend when I can really enjoy it and sit on the opposite side of the bar.

I'm in the middle of my 9 days in a row of tending to make up for time away. So far, not so bad, I've had some great conversations and wonderful and interesting patrons. One who brought out his guitar and had a sing-a-long, one who is an officer, one from Cleveland, one who has retired race horses, one who taught me the best way to make espresso martinis...

Thursday, April 9, 2009

My first day back at the bar was a shock after being away at yoga teacher training. Different hours, different everything. But on Tuesday, I realized that life is about opposites. In yoga, we find that in the Shiva/Shakti (male/female) contrasts, exploring our relationships and energy. Both internal and external. And so applying that, bartending and yoga somehow offer me a new found sense of balance and grace.

Something else new happened for me. I tossed around the word boyfriend when talking to male customers, if something came up that would naturally allow for the conversation to go there. Before yoga school, I had a rule of not mentioning my private romantic life, thinking that it detracted from who I was as a bartender. Yoga has taught me to find that inner-balance and to work with my own sexual energy and that I can find restraint and boundaries even when wearing tight, sequined tube tops.

My boyfriend (we'll call him Mr. Gin for now) hung out at the bar the past two nights, helped me work on new recipes, getting involved in bar conversations, and even trying to help me when I shook my shaker shut making a martini. Sigh, I'm a lucky one :)

~

He's a gin fan and so I wanted to offer him something special, a variation away from his usual gin and tonic. Here's a new favorite courtesy of Cocktails, Culture, and the Art of Drinking Well by Eric Felton:

Bittered Gin Sling

1 1/2 oz. gin

3/4 oz. sweet vermouth (you can also use sherry)

1/2 oz. lemon juice

1/2 oz. simple syrup

a dash or so of Angostura bitters

soda water

Shake all ingredients except soda water in shaker with ice. Strain into highball glass over ice. Add soda water and garnish with a lemon twist.

Then toast someone you love, finding gratitude and joy in your glass as well as your practice, whether it's yoga, mixology, or anything else.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

I was back in DC earlier this week and got to relive one of my favorite cocktails. A Jim Beam Milkshake! You'll find it here. It combines two of my favorite things---ice cream and bourbon. When I asked the waitress if anyone ever ordered a second one, she said no. Now I have a challenge for my next DC trip, but I think the lesson is clear, one is enough.

I'll meditate on that sans booze on my yoga teacher training. And no fellow boozers, the flask will not be accompanying me to Kripalu. This is Ms. Gin wishing you happy drinking and living. Cheers for now until April!

Monday, March 16, 2009

For a bartender, I'm a lightweight. Blame in on the "no shift drinks" allowed policy. Rarely will I drink to get drunk. I'm a one hit wonder when it comes to alcohol. Give me a glass of wine with dinner, a sambuca in a snifter after too much dinner, or one fancy cocktail if going out for drinks, and of course the standard bourbon on the rocks (speaking of, I so wish I could be in London for this!)

So why on why did I agree to go to a 2 for 1 night out last night (beginning at 5 p.m.). Most of the drinks on the menu were vodka based---and I mixed them, the Polish Kiss, the Canadian Bloody Mary, and what?! the Rolo shot! Yes, they do melt Rolos down and wouldn't tell me what else was in there. And then out for sushi and sake afterwards. I should know better.

In fact, we all should. After turning 21 and having our heads in the toilet or elsewhere, why do we treat our bodies in this way? I mean, I do yoga, I'm a vegetarian, I recycle. So why does the drink often sneak up on us? Do we all think we have super hero-style stomachs? Does our mind stop registering what our body is doing?

In college, drinking=FUN. We did it when we were underage because we could. We did it when we were of age, because, well, we could finally do it in public. And now perhaps it's about memory in some way. Aren't they saying 40 is the new 30 and 30 is the new 20? Drinking reminds us of days when we could sleep off a hang-over, blow off a class and kiss whoever we felt like and things didn't matter.

With this economy, business has picked up the past couple weeks at the bar. I've felt a bit like a club bartender at times, almost throwing drinks at people. My last calls have lingered on, people want one more round, one more reason to stay just a while longer.

After work, I usually turn to food (Saturday, so grateful to walk past the 2nd Ave. deli on 33rd and 3rd, and realize they're open until 4 am on Friday and Sat.), but yesterday, perhaps I was thirsty. I wanted to be the one on the other end of the bar. The one who wanted to feel invincible and carefree, or perhaps the one who wanted not to feel, but to just be and yes, I'm sure there are much more yogic ways to feel that than vodka and chocolate. But who doesn't love a little small destruction? If you do, try Key Bar---though what doesn't destroy your wallet, may do double duty on yours truly, so either proceed the 2 for 1 with caution or throw caution to the wind.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Sometimes I feel like a character and this proves it. One of my regulars happens to be a very talented artist and I got to watch something magical happen last week while tending. He lost himself in his bar napkin for about 15 minutes and produced this. As a writer, I know the feeling of getting lost in a poem so I got giddy watching him as the pen moved. For now, we'll call him Mr. Gin (as his regular first drink is a Sapphire and tonic).

So, my offer stands for all the artists in the area as well, come out and see me in April and see what happens on a bar napkin. It's a small space, but oh how we love our small spaces in the city.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

I'm not going to lie, one of my goals at the bar is to have all my 10 seats filled with writers. Call it a make-shift wish of my own Algonquin roundtable. Or perhaps my own thing to do for National Poetry month coming up. So to get the ball rolling and to entice those writers to come out to Park Ave. in April, here's a poem penned by Amy Lemmon, Molly Peacock (and her rhyming napkin), myself, and Brad Hunter.

Friday, March 6, 2009

Whenever people come in the bar and ask for a Bloody Mary, I tell them, I make the second best one they'll ever have. My father makes the best one. I'm not going to divulge the secrets here (at least not so soon), but when I think about drinking and where I learned the most before bartending, it's my father. We had a cat named Dewars and I remember liking the taste of scotch at a very young age.

My tastes for alcohol changed as my father's changed. We shifted to bourbon, then manhattans. He added a little cherry juice, one of my trade secrets. We played around with martinis. He was the first person to teach me about apple martinis (bad! but pretty!). We liked the orange ones better---Stoli Oranj, splash of oj, splash of something sparkly---wine or soda depending on what's available. He had a stash of Godiva liquor in the fridge which went great on top of ice cream and Van Gogh Espresso vodka in the freezer. Perfect on the rocks or straight up. But my favorite drink recipe of my father's is what was known on the Bar Rouge menu a few years back: The Down and Dirty. I named it, but dad taught me the recipe. Vodka, olive juice, dash of gin, and a few dashes of tabasco to taste.

Once a woman came into the bar and asked for a Seabreeze (an easy drink, but not ordered as much). She was surprised that I didn't have to ask what was in it. Again, I owe that to my father who made pitchers of them before we went to the community pool. It was the perfect summer drink. Grapefruit is one of my favorite flavors. I used to love The Body Shop's grapefruit shower gel (now I'm more of a Satsuma girl), but one of the new drinks for the spring on the Silverleaf menu (~yes, I just divulged my location~) will involve grapefruit and cinnamon. The inspiration comes from a typical favorite breakfast, half a grapefruit sprinkled with cinnamon. And that's a toss back to college breakfasts with my friend Annie in the student center. I don't remember how we came to add the cinnamon or if that happened years later, but it matters to me that every drink or every recipe has a story or memory. Someone to share, someone to say cheers, to clink glasses with and have a good time.

For me, drinking always is about these kinds of connections. What I drink usually comes from a story, a person who drank it, who cracked open a Rolling Rock and passed it to me, or who procured a bottle of Old Grand Dad whiskey from her purse and said, tonight is a beginning, love.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Last night I broke one of my "bartender rules." I make them, I set them, and I keep them. They're in place to keep me on the straight and narrow. And to keep my job feeling like a job. And to keep me safe. And then I broke the big rule (not the first time mind you, but...): Do not go out after work with bar patrons (at least until they become regulars and you know them). It's normally common sense and should apply in all situations. Do not go out with someone you met at a club after dancing all night, etc. Trust is something that should be built. Good things take time. There are plenty of adages either way.

However, "Harry," was the father of a teenager, and a rock and roll collector and a MOT. And I was hungry, and he was suggesting Korean food, and it was close by, and well, I was hungry and the conversation was lively. So I went for it. My instinct told me everything would be ok. It was. I had amazing dumplings and something called bipbipbop. And sake. And house made cinnamon tea---which perhaps one day after I become a regular there, may show up in some of my cocktails. And he promised next time he's in town, something signed from my namesake. And now I have a closer, after hours spot for those nights when a late night slice isn't the answer.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

I'm wondering if this has happened to any other bartenders. You have a busy enough bar, you're making drinks at a faster pace, and then somehow your hand catches a bottle in the well and well, you decapitate it! This is what I ended up doing to the Grey Goose last night. It happened so fast, and I only got a small nick on my right ring finger. No blood. No glass. Picture to prove it. Bar patrons to tell the story. Needless to say, when I did last call last night, everyone listened. hmmm, new tactic?!

Thursday, February 26, 2009

When Morgan called to tell me I was hired a week later, I thought I had won the lottery.

Seriously, I had said. After I bombed the interview?

Apparently being a waitress since I was 16 got me through, that and my "personality."

She told me she could teach me everything she knew and that I was going to be fine.

The drinks on the menu were all named after celebrities so all I had to do was memorize names. A Madonna, 2 J-Lo's, and a Will Smith. It was that easy. I served pretty pink and blue drinks. I didn't really have to know what was in them. I just had to balance them on a tray and wear a skirt.

Those nights were fun. Work didn't really feel like work (it still doesn't most of the time). I mean, who doesn't like to talk to people about who they are and interesting things to do. Back then, my guess is just being a resident of DC got me pretty far with the tourists and the business travelers.

~

I still consider myself a little bit of a hack bartender (especially after going to Pegu last night). I have to look up things like Grasshoppers and Pimm's Cups every once in a while. I never went to bartending school. But I can carry on a conversation with you, even when I have a full bar. That's what really matters, which is what I think Morgan was getting at, that even if you can make a good cocktail (which will keep me coming back), you have to make good conversation (which will definitely keep me coming back). And yes, Morgan, after almost four years in the industry, I can go double or nothing on that interview. So here's to you for believing in a 25 year old bespeckled professor who failed your first test, miserably.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

I had never intended to be a bartender. I had never really known one. Even when I frequented bars, I never really thought about who the person placing my bourbon in front of me was, much in the same way we never really think about the people who serve us things and disappear from our lives. Most of us are ignorant in that way until something makes us change our tune. Mine was coming. I was trying to hold a low-paying non-profit job in DC and balance teaching part-time at the university. Then, one day, my boss said to me: you really seem to love the teaching, but your eyes don't light up in that way when you talk about this job (in my head, I'm thinking, yeah, I manage the database, fascinating!).

My birthday horoscope said: You can't handle a 9-5. That was obvious. I had figured that out a few months after that conversation. I had quit the non-profit job and had one class at GW and had no idea how I'd make my rent. I called my boss at GW and got another class, but still, I had no idea how I would put food in that apartment.

So I returned to my waitressing roots. I applied for a "cocktail server" job posted on Craigslist.

This is how the interview went:

Boss: So you're a professor?

Me: Yes.

Boss: Name five types of vodka.

Me: Um, Absolut, Smirnoff...(trying to come up with other Russian names). I can see it on the counter in a big plastic jug. My father is really good at making Bloody Marys.

Boss: Ok, name five types of gin.

Me: Gin?! My grandpa makes martinis with it. He's only allowed to have one. It sort of smells like pine cones and tastes like perfume. (in my head, I'm so blowing this...)

Boss: Name five types of bourbon.

Me: (finally relieved!) Jack Daniels...

Boss: No, that's Tennessee Whiskey.

Me: (demoralized) that's what I drink and I don't even know anything about it?

Boss: Well, now you know.

~

It was raining, hard. I went home to my studio feeling absolutely incompetent. Didn't I do shots on my 21st? I thought back to the things that I drank and realized I had no idea what was in them or anything about alcohol. Other than, if you drink too much, it will make you sick (duh!). Luckily, I didn't have any alcohol around in my apartment and it probably would have mocked me if I had. Jack Daniels had betrayed me, or rather, I had betrayed him.